


Only If You Let It

by twicedefined



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twicedefined/pseuds/twicedefined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14213.html?thread=75592325#t75592325">the following kinkmeme prompt</a>:</p><p>Sherlock goes to a New Year's Party (case? dragged? John hosts it at Baker Street?). As the clock strikes 12, everyone splits into pairs for kissing, and Sherlock thinks he'll be partnerless again. </p><p>Then Lestrade appears...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only If You Let It

**Author's Note:**

> So this is somewhat ooc, but what the hell, right? At least I finally wrote something. Also, about a million bonus point to anyone who spots the [not-really-that-]clever thing I did.

December 27th, 11:09 AM

“Really, Sherlock, it won’t be a big to-do, just a casual gathering so we can all count down to the new year together. That’s all!”

“After those Christmas festivities I am hardly anxious to subject myself to any of your further attempts at ‘casual gatherings’.”

“Anxious or not, it’s my flat too, and I’m having this party. End of discussion.”

***

December 30th, 7:19 PM

Sherlock plucked waspishly at his violin, from time to time violently drawing the bow across with a resounding screech.

“You really ought to stop that dreadful racket, dear. John’s only trying to bring a little cheer to the place during the holidays.” Mrs. Hudson puttered about the flat, tutting at the mess more than tidying as she searched for her missing saucepan.

“If he wants to bring cheer he should bring me a case!” Sherlock replied, more than loud enough to carry into the kitchen.

John merely rolled his eyes as he entered the sitting room. “Drink your tea, Sherlock. I’m going down to the shops for a few supplies.” He crossed to the door and shrugged into his jacket. “And if you’re that desperate for a case, why not ring Lestrade? He’ll be here tomorrow, but still, it might make you a bit more bearable if you know he’s bringing a case file or two.” He flashed a grin at Mrs. Hudson before leaving, not noticing the infinitesimal tensing of Sherlock’s shoulders.

Mrs. Hudson, however, was not so blind. “Yes, why don’t you phone the nice Detective Inspector? He always seemed the clever sort, as they go. What was it you called him? ‘Best of the professionals?’”

Sherlock made a particularly dreadful sound with his violin.

Mrs. Hudson merely _hmm_ ed and _tsk_ ed at him a minute more, then, finding her saucepan under the divan, showed herself out, generously neglecting to comment on the worrisome green tint the pan had taken.

Once the door shut behind her, Sherlock sprang to his feet and paced over to the window, glaring at the city. Things had been… odd, with Lestrade of late. Not strained, exactly… but it was something resembling tension. The most frustrating thing about it was that Sherlock couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem. _Yet_ , he reminded himself. _I’m not sure what it is_ yet _._

He wandered glumly away from the window to fling himself into a chair. The fact that John’s damnable party was celebrating the new year hardly helped matters. Kissing someone just because it was a particular time of day on a particular date was an idiotic tradition anyway. He was only too pleased never to be a part of it.

Really. Pleased.

***

December 31st, 8:09 AM

“Where are you going?” John asked without looking up from his newspaper.

“Out,” Sherlock replied curtly, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“We’ll see. I have some rather pressing business to attend to.”

***

December 31st, 1:25 PM

Sherlock shivered slightly and wrapped his coat tighter around his body as he slouched on the freezing park bench. Apparently, Barts now deemed the destruction one tiny mass spectrometer to be an offense worth being tossed out into the cold without so much as a by your leave.

Not that Sherlock wasn’t just as busy here at the park. Clearly he couldn’t go back to the flat now, his observations of the, um…

He wound his scarf an extra time around his neck.

***

December 31st, 3:21 PM

“Poor dear, you look absolutely frozen!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, too loudly, as Sherlock entered Baker Street.

“I’m perfectly fine. I assume John is still… preparing?”

“Oh yes, he’s been working away upstairs, checking and double checking for any of your… things, lying about.”

Sherlock quickly ran through his mental list of in-progress experiments, content upon confirmation that John couldn’t have upset anything _too_ delicate. “I see.”

“And he’ll be very pleased you’re back in plenty of time for the party, you know.”

Sherlock scowled. “Yes. It seemed unavoidable.”

***

December 31st, approaching midnight

Sherlock stood alone by the window, showing remarkable restraint in not clearing out the guests with a few well-placed observations, and occasionally sipping at the glass of cheap champagne John had pressed into his hand. The party—for a party it had become, despite John’s promises of a ‘casual gathering’—was in full swing at his back, voices raised in seemingly effortless high spirits. And midnight getting closer all the time. Sherlock was glad he was being left alone. The mere thought of the gratuitous swapping of saliva that was soon took take place was enough to make his stomach flutter. Nausea, no doubt. He took another gulp of champagne.

“I don’t have anything in my case load that would have interested you, anyway,” a voice suddenly broke in at his elbow, and Sherlock turned to face Lestrade, barely concealing a grimace. Or, judging by the look on the DI’s face, failing to conceal a grimace, and he attempted to school his expression further.

“Of course not.”

“Only, when I arrived, John asked if you’d phoned and if I’d brought you anything.”

“Well, obviously, neither has occurred.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “No need to get snippy about it.” He took a swig from his beer, and Sherlock found his eyes unexpectedly caught by Lestrade’s fingers and mouth on the neck of the bottle. “Though from what John tells me, you’ve been a bit snippy about New Year’s Eve in general. Any particular reason for that?” He eyed Sherlock in a speculative way.

“The entire celebration is pointless, and there are better things I could be doing with my time, in _my_ flat,” Sherlock snapped.

“Easy, easy.” Lestrade raised a hand in surrender. “Obviously a sore spot.”

“It is not a _sore spot_ , it is simply… simply dull.”

At this comment, Lestrade’s eyes unexpectedly lit up. “Dull, is it?”

“Very.” Sherlock had begun edging away from Lestrade, barely noticeable and not quite sure why Lestrade’s gaze was making him so uncomfortable. Distantly, he was aware of the rest of the room beginning to count.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven—”

“It doesn’t always have to be, you know.” Lestrade took a step toward him. “Dull, that is.”

“—six, five, four, three—”

“Oh really?” Sherlock’s mouth was dry, and his voice didn’t come out quite like he meant it to.

“—two, one—”

“Really.” And with shouts of ‘Happy New Year!’ ringing about them, Lestrade took a firm hold on Sherlock’s shirt and _tugged_ sharply, bringing their mouths together with what was nothing so much as a crash.

But in the next instant, Lestrade tilted his head, and _oh._

 _Oh._ How could he have been so stupid? _This_ is what he’d been missing, the energy building between them. No doubt his lack of recognition could be chalked up to inadequate data on the subject. Mind grabbing hold of that thought and running with it, he moved to deepen the kiss just as Lestrade pulled away.

“Happy New Year, Sherlock,” the DI said with a half-nervous smile. But upon seeing Sherlock’s face, the nerves faded away, to be replaced by something far more devious. “Care to make it a happier one?” He cocked his head in the general direction of Sherlock’s room.

Sherlock blinked and nodded.

***

January 1st, time unknown

Sherlock couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could hardly breathe, drawing in gasping lungfulls of air as Lestrade’s fingers moved in him, crooking against his prostate and making him see stars. Moments blurred and ran together as he was suddenly sinking onto Lestrade’s cock, the stretch making him burn even as he ground down for more, Lestrade’s words tumbling forth freely, “God help me you perfect, beautiful, brilliant…” he trailed off into a groan as Sherlock clenched around him and began to rock. Then it was all heat and sweat and movement and harsh, panted breaths, and the sound of skin against skin until, until, until…

***

January 1st, 6:15 AM

Sherlock awoke to a warmer bed than was customary, and luxuriantly rolled toward the source of the unexpected heat, then jerked away when he felt naked skin. His eyes snapped open to reveal the still-unconscious form of one DI Lestrade. As the memories of the previous night filtered back in, Sherlock’s cheeks took on a suspiciously pink tinge, just in time for Lestrade to blink sleepily at him.

“’t time is it?” Lestrade asked muzzily, pawing at the nightstand for a clock or phone.

“Quarter after six,” Sherlock responded, slightly faster and louder than he had intended.

Unselfconsciously, Lestrade buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder. “Too early to be up,” he mumbled, then turned a speculative eye up toward Sherlock’s face. “Unless you’re…” he smirked, “up?” He trailed a hand slowly down Sherlock’s chest, nails scratching lightly over the soft skin of his belly as the back of his hand grazed Sherlock’s semi-erect cock. Sherlock’s groan at the pun turned into a soft moan as Lestrade grasped him firmly and began to stroke.

“Lestrade?”

“Hm?” The man had begun nuzzling at the soft skin of Sherlock’s throat, tongue and teeth interspersed with gentle kisses as he unhurriedly continued his ministrations.

“I’m not sure this is the best—”

Lestrade sighed, and propped himself up on an elbow. “Sherlock, I’m going to let you in on the little-known secret to the morning after the night before.” Looked extremely pleased with himself, he leaned down until his lips were almost brushing Sherlock’s. “It’s only awkward if you let it be,” he murmured with a smile, and closed the gap between them.

Sherlock’s lips parted as if of their own volition, and Lestrade licked slowly into his mouth, all the while continuing his leisurely stroking. Suddenly determined not to be the passive party, Sherlock reached out to grasp Lestrade’s hips and pulled the man on top of him, slotting their cocks together in the warm, slightly damp space between their stomachs and pressing _up_. Lestrade groaned into his mouth and bucked against him.

And just like that, it was easy, and Sherlock was soon distracted by a particularly delicious sound Lestrade choked out against his ear, accompanied by another grind of his hips.

Sherlock came off faster than he expected, to the sound of Lestrade muttering filthily into his ear, “ _That’s right, just like that, let go for me,_ ” and shuddered out his climax with his face tucked against the pillow.

Lestrade stilled above him, though he could still feel the hard line of the man’s cock, and Sherlock rocked his hips in question.

“Not like this, love. We’re not nearly finished yet.” Gently he rolled Sherlock over onto his stomach, the lanky man complying readily in post-orgasmic stupor, and Lestrade began trailing a line of hot, messy kisses down Sherlock’s spine.

Sherlock sighed as Lestrade kissed between his shoulder blades, gasped as he kissed the small of back, and as Lestrade’s mouth dipped lower and lower, Sherlock’s eyes popped open.

***

January 1st, 3:12 PM

Waking up for the second time, Sherlock stretched as best he could, the arm tucked under Lestrade already shooting pins and needles. Soon he’d roll Lestrade off the trapped arm, perhaps even see if he was up for another round. He tucked his nose against the back of Lestrade’s neck.

Soon. But not just yet.

*fin*


End file.
